154: The Revival of Spade
by Callsign Godfather
Summary: SPARTAN-154, or Sergeant Major Spade, has been revived after falling out of a frigate. The problem with that? He's being reassigned- to some of the most diverse areas in the Halo Universe. Read on and review!
1. Awakening

Disclaimer: I do not own Halo, or Bungie

Disclaimer: I do not own Halo, or Bungie. For that matter, I do not own Red vs. Blue, either- that belongs to Rooster Teeth. Why did I add Rooster Teeth? Well… I'll let 154's intro explain that one.

Spade: Why would I do that? melee

Me: Okay, never mind. All will be explained in time… oooOOOoooOOOooo…

**Chapter 1: Awakening**

SUBJECT: SPARTAN-154

STATUS: CRYO

INJURY REPORT: SEVERE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 21

SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION: TERMINATION

"SPARTAN-IIs don't give up, though…" The medic looked at the cryotube in front of him. Inside was stowed something more mysterious than anything he had ever seen. When his squad, Team 9 (or Cloud Nine as it was sometimes called) had been on patrol in Sidewinder, all of a sudden this had just dropped, literally, out of the sky.

No-one knew exactly why it had landed where it did, but some thought it might have been fated to land there. And ever since Sierra-117 had disappeared somewhere in deep space, this SPARTAN was officially the UNSC's last remaining operational SPARTAN-II. He was dressed in an odd Mark VI/S armor painted silver with brown shoulders and a brown stripe on the arm and leg. Above the left shoulder was a single red symbol- the Ace of Spades.

When they had dropped on Sidewinder, no-one had expected anything, but anything had happened right in front of them- like the heavens belched a SPARTAN right in front of them. So, they ended up dragging the locked suit back to their dropship and flying back to the frigate in orbit, _Wings of Silver_. The crew quickly transferred him to Medical and dropped him into stasis.

That was all three days ago, and the point was- now the SPARTAN was here, and he could help. With what, the team was unsure, but they would surely find out.

The scientist considered turning away from the vital monitor to watch the highlight reel for the 2553 NFL Super Bowl when the monitor began to beep.

The scientist's eyes were suddenly wide open. "What the…" He was looking at the weirdest anomaly he had ever seen in his five years of service.

INJURY REPORT: SEVERE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 21

INJURY REPORT: MODERATE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 54

INJURY REPORT: NO INJURIES- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 100

Sure enough, the sounds of movement came from inside the tube. There was also groggy cursing. "Agh… What the fuck… Open this damn lid!" A fist lashed out inside it, and the triple-reinforced glass plate on the front of the tube shattered like rice paper. A gauntleted fist flexed around, then cleared a hole. The damaged armor of SPARTAN-154 soon popped through.

"Hot damn… I'd better report this to command." The scientist turned in his swivel chair and slammed open the door to the catwalk. However, he didn't make the distance before 154's head swiveled in his direction. "HEY!" His voice rasped through a dry throat.

"Err… Yeah?" The scientist answered, shuddering already.

"I need to know something…"

_'Oh great; I'm gonna get knocked already…' _The scientist started whimpering.

"You know where the mess is?"

"What?"

"The mess. Mess Hall. That's spelled M-E-S-S-H-A-L-L…"

"Err… Out that door and take a right."

"Thanks." 154 raised a hand in salute and walked out of the room. The door hissed open in response. As soon as it hissed shut again, the scientist collapsed.

**Meanwhile, in the mess hall…**

"So. I was talking to the cap'n today outside in Sidewinder, see?" One Marine was talking to another in the Mess hall. The speaker was female, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and grey eyes.

"Yeah. What about?" The other soldier turned to meet his counterpart's gaze. This marine had brown hair in a crew cut, a goatee and blue eyes.

"Same as always. I'm trying to get the squad out of patrols in minus ten, windchill minus twenty at best, in a blizzard."

"What'd he say?"

"What d'you think? He laughed in my face, called me a pussy and walked away- who the hell is that, and why is his armor so fucked up?" The woman stated bluntly, watching as a 7'5" man dressed in bulky, damaged MJOLNIR Mk.6 VI/S minus the helmet, with gunmetal eyes and raven hair. Despite the serious, weighty aura that most would throw like a large rock, he had a smirking expression on his face and an all-around happy go lucky demeanor. He made his way to the duo.

"Pardon me, you two. Sergeant Major Alvin Spade. What's today's lunch?" The female stared at Spade with a look of shock on her face.

"What? Okay, no comment from you? Fine, Van Dyke, what's on the menu?" Spade turned to the marine sitting across from the woman, who seemed to be gasping for breath like a dying fish.

"C… Cor..."

"Out with it man, I'm freaking hungry."

"Corned beef and cabbage. Side of mashed potatoes, a chocolate chip cookie and orange juice."

"Does the juice have pulp?"

"Yes sir, so-sorry sir, we ran out of no pulp last week."

"I'll just make due. Thanks, dude." Spade put a hand on the man's shoulder and nodded.

"…" The female looked at the male. The male did exactly the same thing, then in unison, said- "Was that SPARTAN-154?"

The reply came from halfway across the room, in the lunch line. "Yes, it is!"

Both marines looked extremely confused, possibly as though punched in the gut.

"Pardon me, 154-"

"Call me Al!"

"-Al, but weren't you just put into cryo three hours ago?" 154 quickly advanced through the line and took a seat on one of the rickety benches in front of the lunch table.

"I suppose I was. That would explain the dry throat and the frost on my armor…"

"But you had a 21 percent chance of survival! How the hell are you up and walking around in a matter of hours?" 154 merely turned around in his seat and rolled down the collar of his titanium alloy under-armor. A lump roughly the width of a golf ball beeped red in the back of his neck.

"… There goes my appetite." The girl said. 154 rolled the neck up again.

"Portable life restoration unit. It is capable of meta-healing the user. Literally, bringing the dead back to life."

"Sounds too good to be true." The man said, looking at 154 intently.

"It is. You only get three good uses out of these goddamn things; I wasted one falling out of the back of a frigate." Spade laughed calmly.

"And after those three uses are up?"

"Every time the unit meta-heals after its initial three uses, the host body begins to deteriorate steadily. Need I say more?" The marine shook his head in disagreement.

"I thought so. Well, nice meeting you." to everyone's surprise, Spade had already finished his entire meal. Just as he stood up, the intercom crackled to life. "SPARTAN-154, please report to the commander's office. SPARTAN-154 to the commander's office."

"Damn. No rest for the weary…" 154 trudged off to the commander's office, not knowing his career was about to take a drastic change. Forever.


	2. We're Gonna Regret This Later

Author's Note: Once again, I do not own Halo or Red vs

Author's Note: Once again, I do not own Halo or Red vs. Blue. The OC, however, is all mine. 

**Chapter 2: Reassigned Already!?**

154 was quick about getting to the commander's office. And by quick, I mean "taking the straightest possible path up three floors to the commander's office, even if it meant body-checking three marines and an innocent water cooler." He arrived outside the oak door of the commander's office, and apparently the commander heard him, because as soon as he stopped the commander said "enter". So 154 entered.

The commander turned out to be a gaunt, grey-haired man in his mid-fifties. He was wearing a pristine white UNSCMC commander's uniform, which contrasted greatly with 154's scorched, icy, damaged, etc. Mk.6 VI/S armor.

"SPARTAN-154-" The commander began. However, that didn't last long before Spade interrupted.

"Call me Al." 154 stated bluntly.

"Alright, Al. First of all, glad you're back."

"Good to be back, sir." Spade stated bluntly.

"Now; onward to your orders."

"That didn't take very long. Where am I off to, commander?" The eager look from 154 unnerved the Commander slightly, but he continued on anyways. Regardless, he coughed into his hand when he said it.

"Hlahbloodgulchlah!"

"What?"

"I said…" He said the same thing, only covered with a harder cough.

"Should I get you a throat lozenge or something, sir? That cough sounds awful." Spade's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Despite this, the commander reiterated his orders the same way every time, at least three times, until 154 threatened to put a bullet past his head with his Magnum.

"Blood Gulch." The commander stated somewhat solemly. 154's eyes partway lit up.

"Oh God yes." The commander's head shot up. "Wait… You mean you actually WANT to go to Blood Gulch!?"

"Well… Why not?" Spade stated bluntly.

"Good point. Well, you're job there is simple enough. I want you to get all of the soldiers in that damned canyon to head back to our base at Sidewinder. They will become your new squad."

"Okay."

"That's all you have to say? 'Okay?' No bawling, crying?"

"Nope."

"Not even a whimper?"

"When do I leave?"

"Pelican takes off in two hours, you might want to get your armor fixed in that time span." Commander said.

"Oookay. Thanks for the assignment." Spade stood up and walked out of the commander's office. Once the oak door swung shut, the commander cradled his head in his hands.

"God help that kid."

**Engineering**

154 stepped into the room. Immediately his eyes started watering; the whole room reeked of welding fumes and other stuff. Flip music blared from a stack of monitors and a stereo system in the corner. Several damaged or totaled Warthogs were scattered around the room.

One of the workers approached 154. He was wearing a pair of welding goggles and yelled at the top of his lungs when he spoke.

"COMMAND ALREADY SENT DOWN THE CALL, SARGE! REMOVE YOUR ARMOR AND LEAVE IT WITH US, WE'LL HAVE IT FIXED BY THE TIME YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!" He yelled.

"Great…" The Sergeant Major lowered his head and sighed.

"WHAT?" The engineer yelled back, but Spade was already gone.

Two hours later, when Spade returned wearing his black jumpsuit and a commandeered Gunnery Sergeant's cap, the war-weathered SPARTAN had expected a patchy, unstable repair that looked as though it would barely hold against a dust mite, let alone a Covenant legion. Yet, when he entered the room, the Flip music he had heard before had disappeared. Most of the clutter in the workspace had been moved to the sides or out of the room altogether. The fumes had been vented. A large cluster of engineers, marines and mechanics all gathered in the center of the room as, almost ceremoniously, a mechanic walked away from an odd-looking machine resembling the English wheel from Hell, placed a heavy sheet of armor onto the suit and meticulously spot-welded it into place. Once he was done, he finished the job by re-painting the armor entirely white with brown shoulders and the infamous Ace of Spades on the right shoulder. One of the marines turned and beckoned Spade to his position. As Spade arrived, the mechanics finished wrapping heavy chains tied to two Warthog jacks, both of which were up on lifts in the middle of the room. When the last chain was connected, the mechanic gave the thumbs up to two of the drivers, who nodded in return and revved the engines. The Warthogs struggled with the surprisingly heavy armor, engines whining as the jacks pulled the armor upright and stood it up. The stiff, locked limbs finally surrendered to gravity and dropped to the floor.

"We told you we'd have it done." The mechanic smirked after his statement, and Spade clapped the man on the shoulder before pulling on the separate components of the armor and finally removing the hat and tossing it to the crowd. As the helmet locked onto the SPARTAN's head, LEDs on the armor lit up and the HUD flickered to life. The armor came online not a moment too soon, as the infamous pager spoke once again.

"SPARTAN-154, please report to the landing area. Repeat, SPARTAN-154 to the landing area."

"Wish me luck, guys." Spade said as he exited the open area to a chorus of calls of "GOOD LUCK, SPADE!"


	3. Where's the Store?

What do you expect, a major change from the last disclaimer

What do you expect, a major change from the last disclaimer? Nooope. Same as last time.

**Chapter 3: Where is the Store?**

"Simmons, get to my position!" A gruff, Southern-accented voice drifted across the ridge, ushered from a large sandstone rock.

"Yes sir." Crunching footsteps followed this responds, as in the shadows a maroon-armored soldier swept across the plain to the talking rock. Behind the rock crouched a man in scarlet armor. He clutched a shotgun in his hands.

"What do you need, sir?" Simmons said.

"Gimme the sniper rifle, Simmons." The crimson armored soldier said.

"Yes sir." Simmons removed the large gun from his back and handed it to the crimson-armored man. Peeking his head and the gun around the corner, the soldier zoomed the scope in on the base across the small hill at the middle of the box canyon they sat in.

Smoke rose from behind an octagonal three-floored base with blue markings on it. The tailfin of a semi-wrecked Pelican jutted out from behind it.

"What do you see, Sarge?" An orange armored soldier said from somewhere nearby. Slowly, the crimson-armored soldier- Sarge- turned towards the orange armored soldier and put the sniper rifle on his back, then withdrew the shotgun.

"What do I see, private?"

"… That's what I said." Orange said again.

"I see the barrel of my shotgun poking into your visor, that's what I see," Sarge stated. With that, the gun barrel poked into Orange's face.

"Whoa, slow down Sarge!" Orange said. Reluctantly, Sarge lowered the gun barrel- and promptly emptied a shell into Orange's lower leg.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Orange yelled.

"Shut up, Grif! You're gonna give away our position!" Simmons yelled.

"Like it wasn't already given away?" Said a voice from behind them. A cobalt-armored soldier holding an MA5B assault rifle had jumped down from the ridge. Behind him was a soldier dressed in dark blue and a soldier dressed in aqua.

"Shit." Grif said bluntly.

"Church, what are you doing?" The blue-armored soldier asked the cobalt one, whose name turned out to be Church.

"What does it look like, Caboose? I found these three spying on OUR Pelican that just crashed behind OUR base."

"YOUR Pelican?" Grif yelled. However, he was quickly cut short when Sarge headbutted him. The shock knocked Grif to the ground.

"Well… Yeah, we called dibs, so it's ours." Church stated bluntly. "And if you choose to think differently, well then…" He turned towards the ridge. "I'll let our 'secret weapon' deal with you."

"Secret weapon? You don't remember, do you?" Simmons stated bluntly.

"Remember what?" The aqua armored soldier said. Church turned towards him and planted a palm to his visor before he could say anything else.

"Shut UP, Tucker." Church said with the barest hint of anger in his voice.

"No, seriously. Remember what?" Caboose said.

"CABOOSE, YOU STUPID COCKBITE!" Church yelled. He put up his sniper rifle. Caboose whimpered.

"Remember that your girlfriend's dea-." Grif was cut off as a sniper's bullet drilled into the ground dangerously close to his foot.

"Jesus!" Grif yelled, jumping back behind the rock he was hiding behind. Somewhere in that position, he bowled over a pink-armored soldier.

"Oh, hi Grif. I see you found my hiding spot." The pink one said, struggling to roll out from under Grif.

"Donut… Why are you back there?" Grif said, pushing off of Donut.

"Well, I saw Tex up on the ridge over there, and she had a sniper rifle pointed at you, so I hid back here…" Even through his visor, Donut could tell Grif was shooting mental daggers from his eyes.

"Why-didn't-you-tell-us?" Grif said, his voice barely restraining all the rage he had built up in the last forty-eight hours.

"I thought it would ruin the surprise." Donut said innocently. Grif responded by drawing the Magnum off his thigh and jumping Donut, ramming the gun barrel into his throat.

"All I need to do is pull this trigger, and all my problems are solved-." Grif was cut off by a sudden, stiff grip on his shoulder.

"Let him go, lemon head." A cool, female voice said behind him.

"Okay, okay!" Grif released his grip on the magnum, which dropped to the ground with a muffled thud. Sure enough, the black-armored soldier released her grip on Grif's neck.

"Jesus, Tex. Can you stop sneaking up on us like that? We're not exactly at war any more, anyways." Grif said to the black-armored soldier, Tex.

"It's in my nature. You can't deny nature." Tex stated bluntly, looking over the rock. The sound of a heated argument could be heard on the other side of the rock.

"Huh… Guess I gotta go break 'em up." Tex said, walking out into the middle of the argument. Within seconds, all was quiet again.

**Meanwhile…**

Spade climbed out of the back of the crashed Pelican. He was holding a BR55 Battle Rifle and a pair of M7/Caseless Submachine Guns were magnetized and sticking to his thighs. He scoped in on center field of Blood Gulch and watched the argument from a distance when a voice ushered from below.

"Hey! Like, who are you?" A yellow-armored soldier from below called up to Spade's position. Almost instantly, Spade recognized the voice.

"Kaikaina? Kaikaina Grif?" Spade called down from his position.

"Yeah… At least that's what it said on my credit card last year before the bank confiscated it. Bastards. Who are you?" The younger girl called up from the ground.

"Y'mean you don't remember your cousin?"

"I have a cousin?"

"You need to lay off the vodka, coz!" Spade called down from his position on top of the Pelican, at the same time moving towards the edge and preparing to jump down.

"Coz? Only one person calls me Coz, and that's- Oh my God, Al? Is that you?" Sister called from the ground as Spade dropped to her level.

"The one and only." Spade said, placing the BR on his back. Just in time, too, because Sister swept him up in a strong bear hug despite a good 9 inches in height difference. Spade was stunned, but returned the hug in kind. The two parted in their embrace, and both removed their helmets. Spade's black hair and gunmetal eyes perfectly contrasted Sister's blonde ponytail and hazel eyes, but their faces retained the same angular, attractive features in several places, although Sister's face was distinctly more rounded whereas Spade's face was more angular.

"It's good to see you outside of the postcards, Coz." Spade said.

"Yeah, you too." Sister smiled. "You want me to go get Dex?"

"Well, I think they're a bit busy right now. There'll be time for a family reunion later, right now I need you to get in the Pelican and wait."

"There's a pelican? Where? Is it perched on the base somewhere?" Sister looked around.

"The ship. Get in the ship. And wait for me to come back." Spade sighed. Sister nodded vigorously and climbed into the ship.

Spade couldn't help but laugh at the situation as he sprinted away into center field.

**Meanwhile…**

The argument reached fever pitch just as Spade arrived. Tex had drawn a gun on Grif, who was arguing fiercely with Church, who was arguing with Sarge, who was arguing with Simmons, et cetera, et cetera. Spade slipped in when Tex was about to pull the trigger on Grif. With a deft move from his battle rifle, Tex's pistol went flying across the hill.

"What the hell!?" Tex shouted. Spade put his battle rifle away, crossed his arms. Sarge turned towards the new arrival.

"Alright, reinforcements from Command have arrived! Finally!"

"Sergeant, I'm not reinforcements. I'm Sergeant Major Alvin Spade of the United Nations Space Command's SPARTAN-II program." Spade stated bluntly.

"Then you must be reinforcements for the Blues! Team, attack formation!" It was at this point that Donut shot Grif, who went down screaming.

"Damnit. Look. I'm neither Red, nor Blue. I have no idea what you guys are talking about besides the color of your armor. I'm not reinforcements, I've come to bring you both back to battle the Covenant."

"The Covenant?" Grif said, standing on one leg and waiting for his suit to repair the wound.

"Well it ain't Girl Scouts, Dexter." Spade said sarcastically, still waiting for the others to figure things out.

"Wait, Dexter? How the hell do you know my name?" Grif said obliviously.

"It's your cousin, Dexter." Al said nonchalantly, turning back towards the orange soldier. "Now get up off the ground and head to the Pelican behind the blue place." Within seconds, everyone but Caboose had moved.

"Private… Caboose, why haven't you gone to the Pelican yet?"

"My mommy told me not to talk to strangers." Caboose turned away from Spade. Al sighed.

"Private, you live in a canyon with eight people and a hardwired tank named Sheila. What did you do when you first showed up here?"

"… I don't remember."

Al sighed. _Looks like this is going to be harder than I thought it would be…_


	4. Squad 18, or Hey! We are the same!

Halo is owned by Bungie

Halo is owned by Bungie. Rooster Teeth owns RvB. I own this story. Those are three distinctly different areas.

**Chapter 4: Squad 18, or "Hey! We really are the same team!"**

"… So I said, 'there is no way you're putting me on that damned frigate'. And the commander says, 'yes there is'. Next thing you know, I've been injected three times the normal amount of Novocain, Ican't move or feel my limbs, and I'm being dumped into the back of a Pelican. And all over a beer." Spade said, ending his statement with a guffaw. Sarge sat across the passenger's compartment from him, also laughing. "You know Al, that reminds me of the time I refused my transfer orders to Headlong so I could stay on guard duty at Beaver Creek. Next thing I knew three ODSTs were dragging my ass into a Warthog, and off I went to Blood Gulch with Simmons and that loser!" When he said "that loser", he pointed at Grif. The cabin exploded in laughter once again. Except for Grif, of course.

Church was the first to ask the question. "So what you've said is Red and Blue really are the same?"

Spade was happy to respond.

"Yeah, you're all the exact same team. With the exception of Tex, who was a SPARTAN-2.5, and Dr. Dufresne, who was technically classified as non-combat personnel." Spade took out a long, tube-like device and split it open right down the center. It revealed a holographic data spread. Across the top of the spread was **"CLASSIFIED: UNSC PERSONNEL RECORDS; SQUAD 18".** The list read:

_Squad 18 of the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps was a special project designed to provide an affordable alternative to the SPARTAN-II project. The two teams were split systematically according to team skills and "assigned" to a lonely little corner of the universe to be studied. _

_Personnel Records are:_

_Leslie "Sarge" Aarons, Sergeant Major_

_Richard "Dick" Simmons, Private First Class_

_Dexter Grif, Private_

_Franklin Delano Donut, Private_

_Lavernius Tucker, Private First Class_

_Leonard Lewis Church, Private_

_Michael James Caboose, Private_

_Kaikaina "Sister" Grif, Unranked_

_Alvin "Doc" Dufrane, Non-combat Personnel_

_Over the course of five years, the subjects were observed in their day-to-day activities, and eventually determined as "unfit for combat" due to friendly fire casualties and extreme hostilities and prejudice between the two "cliques" formed. The two teams were deemed combat unfit upon the death of ONI Observer Captain Butch Flowers, the severe wounding of Private Simmons, the near-death experience of Sergeant Aarons, and the friendly-fire death of Private Church. Additionally, the recruitment of Freelancer Allison "Tex" Roberts proved that the team is prone to flaws in judgment and frequent cases of insubordination._

"Wait, Sarge, your first name is Leslie?" Grif said from his seat near the pilot's compartment of the Pelican.

"Yeah, little known secret, that." Spade shouted back from the pilot's compartment. Sarge (or is it Leslie now?) sat fuming in the rear of the compartment while raucous laughter rang out in the compartment. Once again, Church began questioning Spade.

"So what was Vic doing the whole time?"

"Lieutenant Corporal Victor Stevenson was in league with Captain Flowers' observations. It was his job to report developments to the people in command of the project. Squad 18 was locked down in the canyon to prevent escape. Somehow, you managed to uplink to the outside world though. Gods be praised you didn't actually _go _anywhere, or who knows what could have happened." Spade quickly fixed his blunder. "No offense, of course."

Tucker then decided to speak. "So… What is all of this about?"

Spade sighed. _I'm glad I don't have to explain all of this to them. _

After about an hour of Caboose going "are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Spade and Red and Blue teams arrived back at Avalanche. Church was very vocal about this.

"God fucking damnit! I was never told I was going back to this goddamn hellhole! Someone let me off this damn ship and send me back to Blood Gulch! I don't want to come back here! Damnit!"

"Whoa, take it easy Leo." Tex put a hand on Church's shoulder and (almost magically) he calmed down. He was almost docile.

"Wow Tex, you really have the magic touch." Simmons said as he watched Tex calm Church down.

"Well not really, Dick. As it turns out Church has a medication injector in his shoulder blade which shoots him full of antidepressants whenever someone touches it. It made my job easier." Tex said bluntly. Tucker suppressed a laugh. Spade was quick to issue his next few orders.

"Alright everyone, off the shuttle! We have a job to do, and let's get it done fast!" The multitude of rainbow-colored soldiers filed off the Pelican and into the warm base. A myriad of hallways brought them to the briefing room, where the same Commander who had briefed Spade at the beginning of the story stood in front of a projector.

"Welcome back, Spade. And let me be the first to say congratulations on your acquisitions." The commander gestured at the multicolor soldiers behind him. Spade appeared flattered. "Thanks, sir." The commander didn't return the thank you, instead he plowed face-first into the briefing.

"Now, as you all know, Freelancer Alison here had an AI implanted into her mind while she was part of the 2.5 program, which you learned she was part of on the ride here. That AI also got loose somewhere in the galaxy, and I've tasked you with finding it. As you already know, Omega is capable of implanting himself into any human being via radio, so he could be in anyone, at any time. Tex, your almost intimate relationship with Omega is vital in his tracking.

"Intel reported that Omega was last spotted on Earth, somewhere near the city of Voi. Satellite intel reports that he has set up an antenna and a computer from which he is broadcasting fragments of his coding into computers within the immediate area. It is quite possible that he is planning to use the antenna to spread his influence across the continent, and then the world.

"Your job is to go into the jungle, find the antenna, blow it, neutralize the Omega AI, and return here. Any questions?" The commander spotted one of the hands in the group shoot up.

"Yes, Private Grif?"

"Yeah, uh… About this mission. Do I really have to, you know, deploy with these guys?"

"There is no-one else on base with significant AI experience aside from Spade, and you guys. Sorry private, but you really have to go."

"… Damnit. Do I ever get a vacation from this soldiering job?" Grif whined.

"Dude, your entire career has been a vacation. All we ever did in Blood Gulch was sit on top of our outpost and talk about why we were assigned there. If it weren't for Tex showing up, we'd still be sitting there, and we'd still be talking." Simmons said.

"Yeah, but we were still working there."

"Grif! Belay that!" Sarge yelled from his position.

"Yeah, like I'm taking orders from a guy named Leslie anymore!" Grif retorted.

"My parents gave me that name to tough me up!" Sarge returned.

"Yeah, right. Who gives their kid the name Leslie with any intents other than to embarrass him? Besides, we never really thought Sarge was your real name in the first place!"

Sarge stood up from his chair and promptly grappled Grif, slammed him into a wall and went back to his seat. Grif fell to the ground.

"Err… Can we get a medic in here?" Spade inquired.


	5. Pack Light!

Enough with the disclaimers

Enough with the disclaimers.

**Chapter 5: Pack Light**

"Well, fuck me sideways." Spade said from underneath the Warthog. "Looks like that big rock just punctured the fuel cell." The SPARTAN pushed himself out from beneath the Warthog and stood up.

"You mean you can't fix it?" Sarge questioned out loud. Spade shrugged and cocked his head. "With the supplies we have at this immediate time, no. We'll have to hoof it from here."

Grif moaned in protest.

"Oh come on, buck up Dex! It's only five more miles straight ahead, and then we've found O'Malley." Spade said mock-cheerfully. Grif didn't move; at least until Sarge "gently" prodded the orange soldier forward with the barrel of his shotgun.

After about six minutes, the group came across their first obstacle. "Well, it looks like we've been stopped. Time to turn back." Grif said, and turned on his heel, only to have Sarge snap him up and turn him back towards the natural limestone wall that formed the obstacle. The barest signs of the water treatment plant atop it showed over the wall in the form of an overhanging observation post.

"Sister, can you climb up that?" Spade inquired.

"No, I'm double jointed; I'm not a freaking monkey." Sister retorted.

"I might be able to do it!" Donut said, heading right up to the wall. After a few seconds of contemplative silence, the pink armored, effeminate Gulcher abruptly shouted, "Saut de bras!" and leapt straight up to a handhold well out of normal reach. He pulled himself up onto a ledge, then yelled, "Saut de détente!" and covered a four foot gap in the rock face, then grabbed on to the rock face on the other size.

After about two minutes of open-mouth gaping and announcements of French jumping maneuvers, Donut stood triumphantly atop the rock wall, standing on the artificial overhang. Grif looked upward in amazement. "Donut, what the hell was that ninja stuff you just pulled?"

"I took parkour classes in high school!" Donut returned as he let down a series of steel ladders.

"What the hell is parkour?" Grif shouted back. Simmons turned towards his fellow red and explained, "Parkour, or the art of displacement, is a form of physical training invented by the French stuntman David Belle as a form of getting from Point A to Point B as fast as possible in a dangerous situation."

Grif was quiet for a second in thought as he moved towards the ladder, then he said, "So Donut is a French gymnast?" Simmons slapped his forehead in exasperation. "No, what I mean is-!" Simmons was cut off with Spade's quick command, equivalent to "Cut the chatter and move up!"

Another ten minutes of walking brought them to the broadcast center. A UNSC radio set was attached to a few plugs in the tower nearby which was sticking out of a glass-domed distillery at an awkward angle. Generators and power cables were everywhere. "Hmm. Seems deserted." Sarge took a step forward, but simultaneous hands from Tex and Spade stopped him. Tex took a half-pace forward, crouched and swept the dust off the floor, revealing a few tiles on the floor. The freelancer lifted the tile carefully and pulled out a fist-sized mine, easily packing enough explosives to take out a tank. Scanning the ground, Tex quickly turned back to the group and said, "Mines. Every third tile in a diagonal line across the courtyard is hiding a mine. Step on one and you get blown sky high, and I mean that literally."

Spade turned around a few seconds later to see Simmons and Grif still conversing. "Oh, so you say that parkour is like free running only French?" Grif said.

"Finally, you get it." Simmons raised his hands to Heaven and cried out in triumph.

"Meheheheh… Already expressing your surrender, Richard?" Simmons quickly put his arms down and look towards one of the sheds around the distillery to find a man dressed in grey Mark V armor, speaking in a cheesy English accent.

"Omega. Pleasure to finally meet you." Spade said, pulling the BR55 HB SR Battle Rifle off his back. "For the first, and probably the last, time." He fired a burst at the AI-controlled armor, which-

-Dived right under the bullets and straight into him. The feeling of a 7-ton MJOLNIR armor diving right at him full force wasn't at all pleasant, and neither was being pinned under it. Spade planted a boot on O'Malley's chest and heaved the armor off, but the AI recovered impossibly fast. His battle rifle out of reach, Spade did the first thing that came to mind- and punched O'Malley square in the visor.

The orange, reflective visor shattered on impact, revealing… Revealing nothing at all behind it. Spade's fist careened right through the interior of the helmet and bashed harmlessly against the other side. "What the hell!?" Spade shouted, half in panic, half in surprise.

"You mean you didn't know?" O'Malley taunted. "I've possessed this armor and modified it for my own personal gain. This way, neither you, Tex, or you, Alvin, or anyone from the UNSC or otherwise, will be able to kill me! Mwuahahahahaa!"

Alvin pulled his fist out of O'Malley's helmet but grabbed the mandible and yanked it as hard as he could, tearing the Mark V helmet right off the armor's chassis. Holding it triumphantly, Spade threw it to the ground, curb stomped it, and watched as the armor fell apart. "Piece of shit." He said triumphantly. Then, all of a sudden, his radio shut down and his HUD flickered. It lasted for all of a second, then it came back online. "Well, that was weird." He said nonchalantly. "Now, let's take out that radio tower."

The rest of the team, Spade included, sprinted over to the radio tower inside the distillery, only to find a locked door. Spade went first, knocking heavily against the door.

"Password." Said an echoic voice from inside the distillery.

"You're kidding me. O'Malley put a password lock on the door?" Spade thought for a moment, then said, "The password is, Nevada."

There was a second of contemplation, then, "Password denied." Spade growled.

"Freelancer?"

"Password denied."

"Alison?"

"Password denied."

"I'm going to destroy the earth, enslave the entire human race and rule the universe?"

"Password denied." Sarge sighed and moved up to the door. "Step aside, rookie," He said as he strode past Spade.

"The password is… Password."

"Password approved. Welcome back, O'Malley." The door swung open and Spade stood staring at Sarge, who shrugged.

"I use that word for all of my passwords back at Blood Gulch. It's a perfectly sound tactical decision to use the same word as the question, as the answer. Psychological warfare. Messes with their minds on a subliminal level. Why do you think Grif is always the one getting locked out of the base? He has such a low IQ he can't even guess that the question and answer are the exact same thing, heh heh heh."

Sarge was still stroking his ego when Spade said, "Just shut up and get inside the building." After a few second, the group arrived in front of the leaning radio tower. Spade looked at the stack of radio equipment. "Alright, who has the bomb?" He said as he turned around.

No-one answered.

"Alright, I seriously remember giving the bomb to one of the blue guys, so cough it up." First Spade went to Church.

"You got the bomb?"

"Actually, no. I think Tucker had it for a while." Spade then moved over to Tucker.

"PFC Tucker, do you have the bomb?"

"Nah, that thing was too big to carry around all the time. I wasn't going to drag it through the jungle all day, so I gave it to Tex." Now slightly angry, Spade moved to Tex.

"Freelancer, do you-." Spade was cut off with Tex's soft "no".

"What do you mean, no? You're the most combat worthy member of the whole damn Blue Team and you can't carry a bomb the size of a soccer ball?"

"It's too heavy."

"WHAT?!" Spade yelled.

"I don't have the upper body strength to carry that kind of weaponry, it's made of a super dense miniature nuclear fusion core capable of putting out ten megatons of explosive power and-."

"Who did you give it to?" Spade asked, sighing.

"I gave it to Caboose. Turns out he's the only one with the upper body strength to lug that thing around."

"FINALLY!" Spade's visor flickered again. Spade, now more annoyed than ever, tore off the helmet and threw it into the rucksack he was carrying on his back filled with supplies, ammunition, etc. and walked over to Caboose.

"Caboose, do you have the bomb?"

"Yes I do, Commander Two-of-Hearts!"

"What?" Spade asked, annoyed, only to have Church answer, "Caboose doesn't do names! When he forgets someone's name, he just makes one up!"

"Well then, Caboose, give me the bomb."

"Sorry Major Diamond, I can't do that."

Spade almost tore his own hair out. "Why… Not?"

"Because the Sergeant guy in the duck helmet told Church not to give the bomb to anyone not dressed in armor that wasn't any of our colors, or him, and you aren't the duck helmet guy."

"Oh god _damnit!" _Spade shouted, then hauled the helmet out of his backpack and put it on. "Private Caboose, give me the damned bomb!"

"No, Sergeant Ducky."

"_Why the hell not!?_" Spade yelled over the comm.

"You didn't say the magic word." Caboose said in a low, almost annoyed monotone.

"Give me the bomb _now?_" Spade said, gritting his teeth.

"Nope."

"Now, _damnit_?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Now, _please?_"

"Okay!" Caboose gave the bomb a gentle toss to Spade, who caught it in both hands and stomped back over to the radio set. He was muttering angrily when he got to the radio set about "incompetent bastards not being able to do anything right" and "Sarge and Tex are the only good soldiers in the damn squad" and "why didn't I transfer when I had the chance" and that kind of thing while he put the bomb together.

After an extended segment of cursing and bomb deployment, Spade pressed the charge primer into the bomb's interior and walked away from it.

"We have a minute. Pelican's waiting outside. I suggest we start running." Spade bolted first, and everyone else followed.

Caboose stepped on the floor of the Pelican just as the timer on the bomb hit :30, and the door immediately swung shut.

"Time to go, pilot! Move it!" Spade said, pounding the Marine in the back of his head.

"Twenty-five seconds!" Sarge said loudly from the passenger's cabin. The Pelican jerked awkwardly into the air.

"Twenty seconds!" Sarge yelled as the Pelican swooped low over the water treatment facility.

"Sarge! You're late by ten seconds!" Grif shouted. "We only have ten seconds left!"

By now Spade was becoming very nervous. Usually hot evacs like this one never took as long as they did. "Pilot, hurry it up!" Spade shouted from the co-pilot's seat.

"I'll do my best, sergeant, but something is keeping me over the treatment plant!" The pilot shouted. "Some sort of interference with the control surfaces!"

"Three! Two! One! Contact!"

There was a shockwave, the Pelican shook hard, and Spade blacked out.


	6. A Narrow Escape

… Screw the disclaimer, I'm moving on to the story.

**Chapter 6: A Narrow Escape**

Spade awakened being dragged through the undergrowth of the jungle. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head, but when he stuck his hand up to swat at them, his energy shield glowed yellow. Bullets, duh.

'_Brilliant job Spade, you managed to wreck in a deserted jungle and get knocked out through the best set of armor that government tax money can buy. Now…' _

Spade looked up at the arms which held him roughly by the shoulders. One gauntlet was cyan, the other black. _'Weird colors for MJOLNIR...' _Spade thought to himself as he looked around farther. The wreckage of the Pelican was swallowed by the jungle. Muzzle flashes were all around. Succumbing to his exhaustion, Spade lapsed into unconsciousness again.

He reawakened a few hours later in a crude encampment, namely several felled trees assembled into a lean-to and a small, smoke-less fire. His helmet was off, and fresh air flooded his lungs. The humidity struck him immediately; even in late evening the humidity was unrelenting. Stubbornly, the SPARTAN pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned against the lean-to.

Footsteps crunched nearby. Groping for a firearm, Spade found a gun with an articulated barrel and shouldered it, looking down the grey barrel, along the finger-like silencer, held his breath and squeezed the crook where the gun bent- nothing fired.

"… Ouch." Spade turned his head and looked down the stock of the "articulated gun" to find he had attempted to use Tex's arm as a gun. Suddenly nervous about his safety, Spade put Tex's still-attached arm on the ground where it was before. The crashing undergrowth revealed Sarge, dragging what looked like a massive cat. Behind him was a triumphant looking Grif, and further behind was Simmons.

"Brought you ladies a present." Sarge said, putting the cat down on a bed of palm fronds. From somewhere across the camp, Church turned and asked the Reds, "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's one o'them rare South African Spotless Leopards." Sarge said triumphantly. Grif slapped his forehead. "My God, Sarge, how many times to I have to tell you it's a _puma?_"

"I told you to stop making up animals when we were at Blood Gulch, bait boy!"

"Bait boy?" Grif said, half curious and half nervous.

"That's right. After today's little hunting venture, I saw how this spotless leopard took after you from the undergrowth and decided to give you a promotion!"

"Actually, Sarge," Donut said from another place in the camp, barely visible because of his pink LEDs, "Grif is right. It is a puma."

"What the hell?" Sarge whined.

"Yeah." Spade said from the lean-to he was currently sitting under. "_P. concolor_, a member of the Felidae family, native to Central and Southern America, and the west coast of North America. Normally referred to as a 'cougar'. You're of a southern American persuasion, Sarge, you've probably seen one whether you want to admit it or not."

"Just shut up and get ready fer dinner." Sarge growled. Not tempted to argue, Spade waited for the puma to cook over the fire. It would be several hours until it did, so he decided to take his sweet time.

He ended up drifting off after about an hour.

After a good few hours of sleep, 154 woke up energized and ready to eat. Lo and behold, when he woke up the puma was ready to consume.

"It's about time," Simmons said. "We thought you'd never wake up on your own."

"What do you mean?" 154 asked, standing up slowly.

"What I mean is that you've been out for a good ten hours. We left some meat for you, but Sarge thinks it's time to be moving on."

"Why? Think we've been in one place too long and whatever was after us at the Pelican wreck is getting closer?"

"No, Grif's still asleep and if we leave fast enough we can ditch him here."

"Too late." Grif chimed in from his lean-to. The orange SPARTAN rolled off of the crude grass pad he was laying on and slowly moved into a crouch. "So, where are we headed?" He chimed in.

"My guess is about a six mile hike through the woods to the nearest clearing. I'll put up an emergency beacon and ping one of our frigates." Spade grimaced. "And then we wait."

Grif groaned aloud, turning over in his sleep. "Great, more walking."

**

Within two hours, the camp had been cleared and everyone was on the move away from the area, hoping they wouldn't be spotted by some hidden scout- with the Covenant Remnants still swarming through the jungle, combined with what were probably O'Malley's sentries, anything was possible.

So, crouched low to the ground and sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, Spade crashed through the undergrowth, having abandoned any semblance of stealth or camouflage in exchange for every last ounce of speed he could coax out of his body, with the Reds and Blues hot on his heels. Not once did they bother to look back, until the twilight hours when brilliant spires of orange and gold were cast across the purple night-time sky gave way to unforgiving black sky.

The assorted soldiers arrived in a clearing barely large enough to accommodate a Pelican, with waist-high grass and bamboo ringing a large clearing where the grass was pushed down by some unseen force. Spade held up his hand and took a small silver ball from one of the pouches on his equipment belt and tossed it into the center of the clearing where it emitted a single, high-pitched whine which held for a good thirty seconds before the jungle was quiet again.

"What was that?" Grif whispered harshly, but Sarge pushed his head back and forced Grif onto his rear before crouching at the edge of the clearing.

Spade sighed. "I really wish you'd stop doing that, Sergeant. Regardless… That was the signal beacon. The nearest frigate, _Guardian of Twilight_, is a good hour away from the area, and all the other Pelicans are out. We'll have a Pelican here before sunrise."

"Great," Grif sighed as he laid back on the ground. "Someone wake me up when the ship lands." Immediately after Grif said 'lands', a rocket whizzed overhead and landed in the middle of the clearing. Spade dove back out of instinct even though he was well out of range of the rocket.

"What the hell was that?" Spade looked up to see a set of blinking red lights just above the tree-line.

"Shit, Hornet! Everyone get your heads down, now!" Spade shouted as a long burst of 7.62mm rounds plowed the ground in front of the group.

"Everyone turn off the LEDs on your armor and head back away from the clearing, I'll handle it." Spade ran into the clearing, firing his BR as the Reds and Blues… Didn't move an inch.

Spade opened fire on the Hornet, which descended as if accepting the challenge. Spade leapt forward as the Hornet opened fire, raking the center of the clearing with its chainguns as the surprisingly agile SPARTAN leapt forward and latched onto one of the landing skids. Spade pulled himself up onto the skid as the Hornet began shake-off maneuvers, attempting to throw the SPARTAN off before he could get a grip anywhere on the fuselage. Spade withdrew his Battle Rifle from his back and fired a few shots one-handed into the craft's exhaust, watching as the magazine's few incendiary rounds forced the left engine to explode, sending the Hornet into a desperate spiral over the jungle. Spade, keeping one desperate eye on the clearing as the aircraft moved further and further away from it, finally timed his jump and hurled himself bodily away from the stricken vessel before landing, face down, in the middle of the clearing- and on top of the shattered beacon.

"SPARTAN-154, we have lost your beacon's signal. What happened?" A voice (presumably the Pelican pilot) filled 154's helmet as his head spun drunkenly about.

Spade shook his head as he slowly moved into a sitting position and shook his head. "We were attacked by an unmarked Hornet which took out the beacon… Can you triangulate my position using the signal from my armor?" Seeing a few rainbow-colored heads peek up from the undergrowth, Spade signaled them over.

There was a moment's pause before the Pelican radioed, "Affirmative, we have your signal. On our way now."

Spade sighed. The surprisingly long mission had taken its toll on him, and it was time for a nap.


End file.
